Andrew J. Lederer

Late last night, there was, in the subway, the worst-smelling guy I have ever encountered.

He was a tall, thin black guy. Homeless. (Or from a very strange home.)

His smell was a complex smell. It kept yielding new subtones and variations.

There was a brininess to it. It reminded me of the kind of thing you have to get through to appreciate, for example, an anchovy, except there was no reward of any sort at the other end of the experience. No anchovy, just more smell.

The scented wave rolled past and over me, rippling into olfactory dimensions perhaps unparalleled in human experience. Even after he left the car, the stench that was his bequest to us curled through every corner.

My major fear was that my coat would absorb the odor, so I crossed the platform and got on a different train (which would also work for me). Still, I kept on smelling the brine and the waste and the living and the dying and I knew I had to get out of that train too and onto the (outdoor) elevated platform, where I could get some fresh air over and through me.

But the man, this Pigpen's Pigpen, was out there on the platform, stinking up the outside.

He was rummaging through the trash and grunting like an animal. His extreme low-rider pants revealed his entire ass. And yes, the outside air was made foul by his presence.

Now, I'm no rat and I have something of a libertarian bent, but this guy had to be taken away for the larger benefit of mankind. So, I went down to the fare booth and told the guy of the horror that lurked above.

But he did nothing except shoot me some mild sympathy and wallow in his essential uselessness.

And it was still up there.

There was no telling when the horror would end.

So, I left the station, bought a paper, and had some eggs at a diner, not certain the semi-congenial Greek who greeted me didn't notice the monster's odor emanating from me.

And when I finally returned to the station to continue my journey, the sweet smell of normal subway filth had returned.

The platform was quiet. Had it all been a dream?

The mildly salty aroma emanating from my winter coat suggested it had not.

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1 March, 2007 @ 18:47 GMT
http://blogs.chortle.co.uk/andrewjlederer